The Quantum Mechanic: A Superhero Story of Ethic Contortions

By D Faust

As the first person to truly understand quantum mechanics, Douglas Orange finds himself at the command of god-like powers and faced with a unique ultimatum: take on the role of a god he has never believed in, or watch the world fall apart due to his refusal to accept such responsibility.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D Faust
• Release date: Feb 7, 2010

D Faust

I have studied philosophyJurisprudence, and medicine, tooAnd, worst of all, theologyWith keen endeavor, through and throughYet still I am for all my loreThe wretched fool I was before- Goethe, "Faust"

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The Quantum Mechanic: A Superhero Story of Ethic Contortions

D Faust

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 D Faust

Dedication

To my father, with love. To my brother, with hope. To my mother, with perseverance. To my friends, with a smile. To my teachers, with gratitude. To my heroes, bashfully. To the church, with disappointment. And to the rest of the world, with a kiss and a cheer: let us create something better together, and never stop improving.

Acknowledgments

This book could have come about in many ways, but three things I think are more essential than most: freedom of speech, for which I am grateful to the secularist behaviors of my nation's founders, whatever their beliefs; the way I am, for which I am grateful to almost everyone I have ever known, whatever role was played; and the world-shrinking powers of the internet, for which I am grateful to National Novel Writing Month (http://www.nanowrimo.org), and my many commenters who gave me feedback and kept me going. I couldn't have done this without all of those things.

Foreword

As the ancient myth makers knew, we are children equally of the earth and the sky. In our tenure of this planet we've accumulated dangerous evolutionary baggage - propensities for aggression and ritual, submission to leaders, hostility to outsiders - all of which puts our survival in some doubt. But we've also acquired compassion for others, love for our children and desire to learn from history and experience, and a great soaring passionate intelligence - the clear tools for our continued survival and prosperity.

- Carl Sagan, Cosmos

Throughout history, our fairy tales have preyed upon our deepest hopes, darkest fears, and basest instincts. Some good has come of this, to be sure; but also a great evil, and I think it is time to reevaluate our priorities. At the end of the day, we have Life on Earth for sure, no matter what we believe about what came before or what lies beyond. And we now have the power to destroy ourselves, or to re-make the world in our own image. There is no third option here: if we do not destroy ourselves, then the world shall be re-made in our image whether we like it or not, however good, noble, and happy (or disorganized, ruthless, and shitty) that image is.

This story is a modern fairy tale, told in a language meant to cater to our current understanding of the world, and meant to show a better way than I think things are going: it is equal parts cautionary tale, moral parable, and adventure story. It is my fondest hope that this example will inspire others to act in like fashion; it is my greatest fear that it shall found yet another embarrassing religion, i.e., a fairy tale taken too seriously by far.

Thanks for reading!

Prologue

Welcome to the Show

I think I can safely say that no one understands Quantum Mechanics.

- Richard Feynman

Randall James shows his ticket to the usher and then files into the auditorium to watch the magic show. His seat is at the far right of the front row, a great viewing angle for debunking illusionists who usually play to the audience directly in front of them. Randall takes his notebook from his jacket pocket, clicks his pen into the write position, then adjusts his baseball cap and settles down to wait for the Amazing Orange.

Douglas Orange is an unassuming man in his early thirties, a professor of theoretical physics at the University of Montana by day who recently began doing magic shows on weekends. Orange quickly gained internet fame by word of his students as an illusionist whose techniques could not be discerned by even the most careful of observers. Many would-be internet debunkers claimed that his tricks were nothing more than smoke and mirrors, old hat to erstwhile professionals like Randall. Yet none could duplicate Orange's illusions as he had performed them, and Orange was consistently able to demonstrate that he did not rely on any known methods to achieve his results.

And so it happened that Randall James travelled across three states to see the Amazing Orange with his own eyes. The tuxedo-clad magician looks directly at James and winks as he walks out from backstage, waving warmly at the audience as he basks in their applause.

Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! Are you all ready for some theoretical physics? Silence. Very well - magic it is! Applause. Orange begins to remove his coat. So many of my colleagues wear long sleeves, but I find that this only invites accusations of hiding various tools inside them. He lays the coat over a small oak endtable. Rolling up his shirt sleeves, he continues, I choose instead to bare my arms, now folding up his jacket, And that way, so long as I do the magic right, a sly glance to the audience, The criticisms just seem to... disappear! And so does the jacket. One moment he was holding it, folded into a neat sort-of square, and then it just disappeared behind his arms. Applause ensues. Randall jots down some notes.

Well, that was fine for a warm-up. The magician claps his hands together and rubs his palms vigorously against each other. For my next trick, I'll need a deck of cards and a volunteer. Pulling his hands apart, a deck of cards appears. Well, one down, one to go! Hands shoot up among the crowd. You there, in the green shirt - pick a card, any card. The cards fan out, and every single one is an ace of spades; laughter erupts. Terribly sorry! Here, let me try again. Orange rearranges the fan back into a pile, then fans them out again; the usual array of cards appears this time. You know what? Why don't you just take the deck? Orange hands the cards to the young woman in green, then turns his back and instructs her to select a card, show it to the crowd, then put it in her pocket and hold on to the rest of the deck for good measure. She complies, revealing a nine of diamonds as Orange patters on.

Now watch closely, and the magician pulls a black handkerchief from his pocket, shakes it out, then lays it carefully over the small endtable. Concentrating, Orange places his hand palm-down upon the covered table, then his hand disappears through the handkerchief. Then his forearm. Then his elbow. Almost there. The magician is up to his shoulder in endtable, a twelve inch square of wood perhaps six inches deep with obviously inadequate capacity for so much arm. Got it! The arm comes out, and the nine of diamonds is revealed, but the design on the back is wrong. Oops! More laughter. The woman in green checks her pocket, but looks puzzled. The card is presumably gone. Well, the young miss seems to have misplaced her own card, as well! Perhaps the man to your left can't keep his hands to himself? Orange cocks an eyebrow at the gentleman. If you please, check your pocket, sir. He does, producing a nine of diamonds to his surprise. And you, to her right, you've also got a suspicious look about you. Your pockets? Another nine of diamonds. You, in the back with the Bobcats jersey. Have you also got a card in your pocket? Yet another nine of diamonds. Oh, my. You know what? Everyone, check your pockets. I think this trick has gone all wrong. Randall checks his pocket and finds a nine of diamonds. Unbelievable. More notes, more applause.

Well, that's enough card tricks out of me. How about pulling things from a hat?

After the show, Orange holds a brief Q&A session during which he hammers away on two central themes: the first being that a good magician never reveals his secrets, the second being that children can learn all his tricks and more by paying attention in school and staying creative. James heads backstage when the magician does, flashing his press credentials at the lone security guard. He knocks on the door, and the physicist answers in jeans and a blazer.

Doctor Orange, I presume?

Ah, Randall 'The Randificent' James! Glad you could stop by, come on in. Randall steps inside and readies his notebook for another round.

That was quite a show you put on, professor.

Mister James, my students call me professor. My role models can simply call me Doug. Randall smiles, taken aback.

You flatter me, Doug. Your illusions are on a scale I could never match, not even in my prime. The notebook lowers.

I'm sorry, you misunderstand me. It's your work for the Skeptics Coalition International that I find fascinating, though your performances were also quite admirable.

Ah, I see! That's actually what brings me here today. I'm sorry to say it, but I'm here to debunk you for a SkepCo article. Though after such a performance, I have to say that I haven't the slightest idea how!

That's fine. In fact, Orange glances over his shoulders, I'll give you your scoop, if you want it. I know I'll rob you of the thrill of figuring it out, but I think you'll find it worth your while. Randall cocks an eyebrow, notebook at the ready once more.

All right, then let's have it. Orange takes a deep breath and concentrates.

Look at the table. Randall does so, and after a few moments, a rabbit appears. No flash, no bang, no scarf or hat or patter - a rabbit simply appears whole upon the table, where before there was only air. There's nothing to debunk, Mister James. I perform what could probably be called actual magic. Randall puts his hand out and leans on the wall. But there's nothing to it. The patter is only to keep the audience engaged - they don't want to see actual magic, they want to think they're being fooled. The shows I put on are just practice.

I feel lightheaded, he says quietly. That's not possible.

Oh, it's very possible, it's just also very complicated. I'll tell you the whole story, if you like. Would you care for a drink?

I don't normally drink, but – after that, I could sure go for a cold one.

Hours later, the two men have worked their way through a six-pack and the last eighteen months of the professor's life.

You said earlier that your shows are practice, James says at one point. Practice for what?

Multitasking. Douglas is now drinking a tall glass of water. The magic is the easy part, but by doing other things at the same time, I am able to practice managing several things at once. This helps me do bigger and better magic.

Do you have to keep calling it 'magic?' It's just so, so - what's the word? - boring, I suppose. What you do is so much more exciting!

What else should I call it? I don't have a better word for it. These principles don't have names, and they're not exactly well-documented in the literature.

There's your career, right there! Or you could take the SkepCo prize for proving paranormal abilities, if you want to keep it a secret. Douglas waves his hand dismissively, unaffected by the mounting excitement of his guest.

Small potatoes, man. I mean, I could sure use a million dollars, but - no offense - my goals are bigger than that. What you saw today is the result of months of practice; imagine what I'll be able to do a year from now!

But you could do so much good right now! If you became a cop, or part of the military, or even a science advisor to the White House of some kind, you could make so much progress!

Doing what? Following orders from my superiors, assisting the USA in achieving dominance over the rest of the world, or putting down local crime? Small potatoes once again. I want to do more than that, and that means keeping things pretty quiet for now. Otherwise, Orange looks downcast, I have a strong suspicion I'd be labeled as a threat if I didn't comply with whoever tells me what to do. Maybe I could stand up to them, but I have family and friends, and I can't protect them all the time while also helping the rest of the world. I'd have to play their game, or spend all my time keeping my loved ones safe.

Well, what about vigilantism? I'm sure you could do some real good as a masked man, preposterous as it sounds. Think about it: you have actual superpowers! Who could stand in your way? Douglas scoffs.

Really, now? A superhero, like in the comics? Don't be ridiculous. Besides, my name is Douglas Orange - that's about as far from superheroism as names get. What would I call myself, the Orange Avenger?

How about, umm, Randall waggles his fingers in the air, as though literally grasping for an idea as he trails off. What do you think of 'The Quantum Mechanic?' I think it suits you. Orange considers for a moment.

Hm. It fits. It's got a ring to it. All right, I'm sold!

Great! Well, you've got your powers, your name, all you need now is a side-kick and a base of operations, maybe even a front organization. I think SkepCo might serve well, and as for the sidekick, Randall shrugs and smiles, I know your secret identity.

Now we're getting ahead of ourselves. Douglas shakes his head and paces. Listen to us. Talking about using SkepCo as a front while maintaining total secrecy? I still have a whole bunch of practicing to do before I can seriously take on the world, anyway.

Well, we'll see. Randall stands up and extends his hand to Orange. They shake. You practice, and you think about it. I'll be in touch.

Chapter 1

Origin

Sometimes the truth is stupid.

- Roger Williams, The Metamorphosis of Prime Intellect

Douglas Orange sits alone in his study on a Saturday evening in March. He has just finished grading a round of exams and is looking forward to the rest of the weekend at long last. Leaning back on his chair, he puts his feet up on one corner and contemplates the silence. He breathes deeply and lets his mind wander, Maxwell's equations lining up and leaving his mind as orderly as dorm dwellers during a disaster drill.

The house settles, a groan snapping the man out of his reverie. He inhales sharply and stands up. It's time to find his wife.

Alvina Belinda Orange had the ill fortune to be named after her father's mother, Alvina Begalski. She is a science correspondent for the Montana Ash, an independent online news source with a Humanist bent. At the moment, she is typing an article on her laptop from the living room couch, NPR on the radio and local news on the television. Creaks and groans sound throughout the house as her husband approaches, then drapes his arms around her shoulders and nuzzles her neck.

Hey, babe, she says, leaning back. How goes?

Mrff. Goes well. Done with physics. Doug's voice is muffled as he speaks directly into the collar of her sweater.

Oh, yeah? What's next on the agenda?

Hrm. I was thinking about anatomy, his hands begin to wander as he trails off.

Mmm, I like where this is going. Can we do a detour through nutrition first? I'm hungry, baby.

Sure thing. It's all biology. Got a taste for anything in particular?

We got 'sketti?

Oh, yeah. He nibbles her earlobe. You finish up, I'll go get started.

You're the best! She turns and pulls him in for a kiss. I'll be right with you, darlin'.

Douglas floats into the kitchen on a cloud. His life could be better, but not by much. He loves his work, his students love him, and he's madly in love with his wife. Peppers, onions, and ground sausage dance about the kitchen under his expert guidance as pasta boils and store-bought sauce supervises from the pantry shelf. Alvina saunters in at some point with a plastic